


A Werewolf in North Carolina

by MichiganBlackhawk



Series: Trio AU [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2018-01-01 17:51:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1046781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MichiganBlackhawk/pseuds/MichiganBlackhawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean investigate reports of werewolf activity that are anything but normal, and run into an acquaintance of Sam's along the way. Takes place shortly after the events of the first season episode "Asylum." Co-written with the awesome Enola Jones, who saw to it that I was pulled kicking and screaming into this fandom.</p><p> </p><p>Revised version updated 5/22/2014</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

May 2, 1997

 

Sam Winchester’s fourteenth birthday passed with relatively—well, with no—fanfare, just all the others in his life—forgotten by everyone but his brother Dean. Dean always gave him something, even though it was never something large. 

Today, though, Sam had to research poltergeists for his father. There seemed to be one in a house on the outskirts of the small town they were in, close to Uncle Bobby’s house in Sioux Falls, and he was hoping this would be the one that would have his father saying he was proud of him at last, or at least taking the information with more than a noncommittal grunt.

He was able to find what he needed within a few minutes, up to his elbows in books shortly after at the small library table, where he stayed until late in the afternoon. Hungry and tired, he doggedly kept looking. Supernatural phenomena were hardly serious academic subjects, requiring either an element of entertainment or a generous publisher, either of which could make the actual information close to useless. Over the years he’d learned to weed through the truly useless information to find what Dad needed for whatever particular job they were on. He didn’t always get to see exactly what Dad did with it, but that was okay.

“If you push your nose further into that book, you may cut yourself,” an amused voice said. A sandwich slid under his elbow.

“What?” Sam said distractedly, then blinked at the sandwich. “Oh, no, thanks, but I can’t. The librarian would have a fit.”

“Oh, most assuredly. But since I am the librarian, I think I can excuse myself this time.”

Sam looked up, flaring bright red along his high cheekbones. “Oh! . . . okay. Sorry.” He began to eat.

“There are rules, but I’ve seen you here before and I think I can trust you not to smear mustard on the pages.”

He smiled at her. “Thank you, Mrs. . . . uh?”

“Adelphina,” she said. “That will do for now.” She had the kindly air of a grandmother, though she looked to be only in her early fifties. Generous laugh lines spread from her rich green eyes, partially hidden behind a pair of spectacles that tried—and failed—to make her look stern and forbidding. That came from her manner; she held herself ramrod-straight, her face capable of moving into a stony expression as cold and heartless as a big predator on the hunt. 

“All right,” he smiled. “I’m Sam.”

“Very good, Sam. May I inquire what you’re so invested in this afternoon?”

“Oh . . . uh . . . just . . . ”

“Poltergeists? That’s a somewhat unusual topic of study.”

Sam had to think fast. “I’m a . . . uh . . . it’s a hobby.”

To his surprise, she smiled. “I am always happy to find children who are interested in esoteric subjects. Most requests from people your age are about girls or boys or bands or television shows. What I wouldn’t give for one fourteen year-old who wants to read Shakespeare or Sherlock Holmes.”

“I love Sherlock Holmes,” he found himself admitting.

“Do you? Sir Arthur is so rarely called for, to my eternal disappointment.”

“I’ve just finished ‘The Speckled Band’. Gotta say, I wasn’t expecting it to be a snake.”

“Words are wonderful things, so able to be several things at once, or to be both and neither. You can spend your entire life trying to pin down a single word and you can’t do it.”

“Yeah!” His whole face lit.

“So, with your current hobby, have you referenced Engels and Michaud?”

“ . . . who?”

She smiled broader. “Wait here.”

Sam watched her go, then turned to finish his sandwich.

She returned a few minutes later, her long skirts swishing, and set down two very old books. “These should help you dig a little deeper.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Don’t ‘ma’am’ me. Makes me sound like an old woman.”

“I’m only fourteen, ma’am. To me, every adult is old.”

“Very true,” she replied with a voice that seemed to be ageless. “If you’ll permit the intrusion.” She sat, opening one of the texts. “I believe in here is some foundational material you may find useful.”

He read and his eyes went wide. “Whoa . . . this is everything I ever needed to know . . . ”

She laughed, a gentle sound not unlike a purr. “I’m glad I could help.”

“You did! Thank you so much!” He shot a brilliant, dimpled smile at her.

She stood, placing the other book closer. “If I think of anything else, I will be sure to let you know. And if you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“I won’t! Thank you!”

 

The final patrons of the library parted for the man walking up the path; he was tall and broad, with elegant features that would have seemed more at home on a statue or in a painting of a king or knight. His short-cropped hair was jet black, his eyes nearly so. He paused near the door, watching the librarian who was talking with a slight, nervous-looking teenage boy.

Finally they parted, the man waiting until the boy was out of earshot. “Who was that, Del?” he asked the woman.

“Oh, just a very enthusiastic student,” she replied. “Wonderful intellect.”

“For a human,” he said.

“That’s not funny, Rolan.” She moved aside, letting him enter, then closed and locked the door behind him. “I know how you feel about them. I don’t need constant reminders.”

Rolan turned, smiling at the older woman. “You are always so quick to defend your pets.”

“They’re not my pets. And even if they were—you talk as if associating with those weaker than you is a weakness itself.”

“Not at all, Del. I just find that it makes more sense to associate with more . . . worthy beings.”

She sighed, pausing in her work, her hand lingering on one of the texts she’d retrieved for Sam. “Worthy is in the eye of the beholder. You’ve just forgotten how to see the good as well as the bad.”

“I’m just speaking the truth. These humans are so primitive, so weak, so vulnerable to their own worst instincts.”

“Then why are you still here? You have no obligation to remain.”

He shrugged. “They’re interesting in a morbid way. I feel better about myself the more time I spend amongst them.”

“So you use them to prop up your own feelings of superiority. How enlightened of you.”

Rolan snarled, a deep, inhuman rumble that emerged from his chest like slow thunder.

Adelphina turned, her gaze turning cold. “Are you challenging me, Rolan?”

Rolan backed away a step, forcing his gaze down. “Forgive me, _dey’n_.”

She finished collecting the books left on the tables, pushing the wooden cart into the back room. Rolan followed. “I received our orders. In a month you need to move on. Your papers and identity are ready. You should begin tying things together here.”

“So soon?”

“It’s been ten years, Del. Even these people will start to notice that you’re not aging as they do.”

“I know. I just wish I’d had more time here. That boy, Sam, shows real potential.”

Rolan touched her arm. The tips of his fingers were oddly shaped, the nails rounded and oblong, deformed in an odd way. Adelphina’s were shaped the same, though longer and more ‘normal’ looking. “It’s too dangerous to stay. You’ll have a month to say goodbye. Be thankful for it.”

 

March 3, 1999 

 

Sam was almost sixteen and the family was holed up in a small town in Tennessee when word reached John about a werewolf the next town over. They set Sam to researching the town’s history and he went right to the library.

He’d expected books. He hadn’t expected her.

He smiled at her and asked, “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

“I don’t know, do you? I have so many students in and out every year, it’s so hard to keep track.”

“You seem very familiar.” He walked to a card catalog and began to flip through it.

“All librarians have that aura. We’re all the same person, you know.”

Sam laughed softly and noted some numbers, heading to find the books.

“You seem to know your way around.”

“Libraries are like my second home.”

“Dewey or Library of Congress?”

He smiled sideways at her. “Yes.”

“Ah, a pro. I don’t think you’ll need my help, then. But if you do, I’m sure you’ll know where to find me.

“What’s your name? I’m Sam.”

“Since you’re underage you can call me Ms. Phinar.”

“Ms. Phinar.” He got it right on the first try.

“Beautiful.”

Sam blushed slightly. “Aaah, there we go.” He loaded with books and sat down at one of the tables, spreading out notebooks and pencils. His study habits hadn’t changed in two years.

She narrowed her eyes, easily scanning the words as he moved papers and flipped pages, silently noting the texts he had and the ones he needed. As she approached, she saw he was studying the legends.

“Werewolves?” she asked. “Do you believe they exist?”

“I’ve seen weirder,” he said with a note of resignation in his voice.

“You have?”

“M-hm.” He stood up and went to the water fountain, drawing deeply from it. A clear avoidance technique.

When he looked up he noted her gaze; it was piercing, not like looking at an elder woman, but at a cat. A large, ancient cat.

She noticed his eyes narrow, but he just returned quietly to his seat.

“If I may ask . . . what have you seen?”

“Enough things that your hair would curl.”

Her voice was flat. “Try me.”

“I like legends. I’ve been in haunted houses and graveyards at night.”

“Really? And what have you seen?”

Sam looked at his watch. “I need to get home.” Standing quickly, he started gathering his books.

She touched his arm, her grip fleeting but strong. “Please, I need to know.”

“Look, I’m just talking off my head. I do that. Just ignore the weird kid, okay?”

“I would love to, but when the ‘weird kid’ has truth in his eyes—”

Those eyes snapped with anger. “Look, just-just leave me alone!”

She pulled back. “All right. I’m sorry.” He’d not expected that look of shock with a touch of shame. “If you need any help, though, please let me know.” She retreated, vanishing around a corner.

Sam ran out and didn’t return for two days.

 

Sam was back in the library on Wednesday. He was working his way through a stack of books, taking notes and talking to Dean on the phone. When he couldn’t find a crucial book he went back to the table, frustrated, pausing when he saw the book he’d been looking for sitting on top of his notes.

He turned toward the desk, and caught Ms. Phinar’s eyes. “I’ll call you back, Dean. No, nothing’s wrong—no! Look, I’m fine, okay?” He hung up and went over to the desk cautiously.

“I wondered if you were ever coming back.”

“I didn’t think I was going to.”

“I’m glad you did.”

With a wary nod, he reutrned to his studies.

She left him alone, keeping to the shadows, one ear always turned in case he needed help.

He finished and went to the desk to check out a few books. Local legends. Werewolf legends.

“There is a reason you’re researching this particular area, isn’t there? Beyond mere curiosity,” she said, looking down at the slips as she signed them.

Anger flashed in his eyes. She met his anger with calm.

“I can’t tell you.” He waited.

“There is a reason I ask,” she began. “And I can’t tell you why . . . until I have your answer.  
I asked if you’ve ever seen one, you told me you’ve seen weirder, but that’s as much information as you gave.”

“That’s all I can give.”

She looked disappointed. “Then I won’t question you further. You have a right to your own secrets.”

“Thank you.”

 

Dean looked up, thumbing off the TV as his little brother walked in to the motel room. “Hey. Have fun?”

“Not really.”

“What happened?”

Sam was silent, putting down the books he’d taken out and all his notes, then shuffling them around. “Nothing serious, just . . . the librarian. She seems familiar, and there’s something about her. It’s . . . weird.”

“Course she’s weird. She’s a librarian.”

“It’s not that. She kept asking why I was researching werewolves. And not just curiously; it was like she had some . . . personal investment.”

Dean sobered. “You think she’s one of them?”

Sam met his eyes, not wanting to speak the words. She had been nothing but kind and helpful to him, and there was nothing to suggest that she was, but there had been that look . . . “I think she might be,” he whispered.

Dean nodded. “Okay. Show me what you’ve got.”

Sam laid out his notes, tracing the local phenomena. “Looks like it started fifty years ago, tapered off and ended in 1982, and then three years ago the sightings started again.”

“Like someone moved out and returned.”

“Exactly. And . . . according to the library, she—Ms. Phinar—just moved here about two years ago.”

“Let’s find out about this Ms. Phinar.” Dean stood and walked over to his brother. “Go shower. I’ll go over this.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sammy. Go.”

“All right.” He turned and headed into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Dean went over the research. It laid out a consistent pattern of sightings in a long swath of densely-packed woods, with locals describing very similar visions of very large furred creatures who walked on two or four legs, one man adamant that he’d seen a man shift forms before his eyes—with his story immediately discredited when his cabin had been found stocked with a very generous supply of moonshine.

That made Dean smile. His little brother was the best damn researcher ever.

Sam came out, his hair dripping wet and clinging to his cheeks. “Find anything I missed?”

“Nope, looks like you covered everything.”

“So what’s the next move?”

“Stakeout. Good thing Dad left the car with me this time while he and Jim are running down those ghouls.”

“The library?”

“Your dream come true.”

“What if she is? You know, a werewolf.”

“Then you know what we have to do.”

Sam sighed. He knew he shouldn’t let his feelings interfere with their job, but she was so nice and wise somehow—he just couldn’t imagine having to do anything to hurt her.

“C’mon, let’s get some supper and figure this out.”

“I don’t want to hurt her, Dean.”

His face softened. “I know. But, Sammy, if she is . . . we don’t have a choice. A monster is a monster is a monster.”

“I know. I just . . . don’t want to believe that she’s a monster. I don’t—I don’t feel that about her.”

He curled a hand on the back of Sam’s neck. “Then I hope—for your sake—she’s not.”

 

“Okay, okay, you were right,” Dean said as he threw the Impala keys across the room. “She’s weird but she’s not a werewolf.”

They’d spent the evening watching the library, waiting until Ms. Phinar appeared. She locked up the doors, checking them, then headed off, walking down the street like any other person leaving her job and going home. Trailing her for several blocks, they watched her head into a small, unassuming house and close the door behind her. Dean glanced up at the full moon overhead, the realization hitting him at the same moment it hit Sam; if the moon was full overhead and she hadn’t turned, she wasn’t a werewolf. They both knew that the whole shifting-into-a-huge-furry-creature part was a myth, but true lycanthropes still underwent a noticable transformation.

“Maybe she knows something,” Sam said. “But I don’t think she’ll ever tell us. She’s a dead end.”

Dean sighed. “Okay, then it’s back to square one.”


	2. Chapter 2

April, 2006

 

Dean woke to see Sam busily clacking at the laptop keys. “Dude, again? You gotta sleep sometime.”

“Remember those werewolf sightings back in ‘97 and ‘99? They’re starting again.”

“Where at?” Dean yawned and scratched his stomach.

“North Carolina.”

Dean’s eyes rolled toward the ceiling, slotting in maps in his head. “We’re in Illinois, that’s about a day’s drive, give or take.”

“I wonder if we’ll see her there.”

“Who?”

“She called herself Ms. Phinar last time, but the more I think about it, the more I seem to remember someone that I think was her from earlier. I can’t remember the name, though. ”

“That’s right, the library lady.”

Sam leaned back in his chair. “I don’t know why, but I just have this . . . feeling.”

“More dreams, psychic-boy?”

“No. Just a feeling.” He closed the laptop. “When can we get going?”

“After breakfast.” He pointed at Sam. “And you’re _eating_ this time, got me?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“So lemme take a quick shower and let’s load up.”

After fulfilling his agreement with Dean, they set out, aiming the Impala southeast for the rolling, rural hills of western North Carolina.

Sam was behind the wheel while Dean read the research he’d put together. “Gotta say, I’m impressed.”

“Thanks. Wasn’t too hard to put the pieces together once I figured out that they seem to keep to rural areas—not a lot of people, lots of cover. Whatever they are they’re trying to keep as low-profile as possible.”

“Only one thing’s missing out of this.” He waved the paper. “Where’re the victims? We’ve got sightings, but no dead bodies with hearts ripped out. No missing people. Where are the victims?”

“I don’t know. That’s the one part I couldn’t figure out. Lots of missing people all over the country but nothing that ties in with any of these sightings. And it wouldn’t make sense for a werewolf to be out and about and not be hunting—unless they’re not hunting humans. And that isn’t their M.O.”

Dean hummed thoughtfully. He looked up and asked, “Tell me, did you try to call Dad?” At Sam’s silence, Dean looked over. Seeing his jaw tick, he nodded. “You did. And he didn’t answer. As usual. That man . . . ” Dean growled. “I love him but he needs to answer his phone. If we ever need him and he’s not here . . . ”

“Why don’t we get there and check it out for ourselves first?” Sam said.

Dean smiled over at him. “Oh, we will. I just want him to know what’s going on.”

“Later.”

Dean’s smile grew. “Okay, so let’s figure out what we’re up against.”

The first location where a werewolf had been sighted was a small town deep in the rural landscape, the locals giving the Impala long, suspicious stares as they drove through.

“Looks like they recognize class when they see it.”

“Either that or they’re thinking of getting their torches.”

“Always half-empty, Sammy,” Dean clucked.

“Just natural caution. Preferable in our line of work.”

“I’m cautious!” Dean growled. “I just happen to think they would have more class than to—ooohh, an inn instead of a motel! We’re movin’ up in the world.”

Sam pulled into the lot, surprised by the tidy-looking inn nestled under a profusion of oak trees; judging by the shacks and trailer parks they’d seen, he’d begun to wonder if a motel room not infested with cockroaches was going to be asking too much.

Their room was neat and cozy, a far cry from the usual shabby motel rooms they were used to; the furnishings were worn but in a well-loved way, obviously having been built and maintained with care. Sam tossed his things on the bed near the window, taking out his laptop and the papers that contained his latest batch of research. Dean got on the phone, making the usual round of calls to the local authorities and newspaper, fishing for information as well as looking up the local eateries.

“What, I’m hungry!” he said to Sam’s unamused glare.

After an hour which yielded nothing of note, Sam headed to the library, disappointed on two fronts—the tiny little building clearly had nothing there that he needed, and there was no sign of Ms. Phinar. He went back to the inn to fetch Dean, deciding that something to eat was better than nothing.

“Was she there?” Dean asked once they were sitting in a booth in a diner that was plainly trying to resurrect the fifties.

“No. I mean, I guess it was just coincidence before. But I was sure I was going to see her there.”

“I found out more details.” He put a notepad in front of Sam. “No vics. Still.”

“For now,” a voice behind them said.

They both spun, gaping.

“I thought it was you two. Your voices have changed, but I’d know that black Impala anywhere. And this is a small town.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “This her?”

Sam looked up. She’d been in her early fifties or so the first time he’d seen her, and she didn’t look any older, though she should have been well over sixty by now. But there was no doubt; she was even still wearing the long, colorful skirts and shapeless blouse that would have made her look like an old hippy had it not been for the seriousness and dignity in her gaze. “Yeah, it’s her.”

“Still chasing werewolves, are you?” she asked.

“You _told_ her?” Dean hissed.

“He said nothing to me, young man,” she said archly. “I observed his topic of study and did my job, helping him find some materials.”

“And asking some pointed questions that you never have explained,” Sam said softly.

“Touche,” she said.

“Sit down,” Dean said, suddenly all charm. “Let’s get you something to eat.”

“How old are you two?”

“I’m twenty-two,” Sam said. “He just turned twenty-seven.”

“All right,” she said, sitting. “Just wanted to make sure you’re both of age. Wouldn’t do to be accused of cradle-robbing.”

Dean grinned at Sam’s blush.

“I take it you’re here because of the werewolf sightings. The local news has been suspiciously silent on the matter, but word of mouth is just as efficient. People have even taken to carrying guns with them. Not that they didn’t already do that before.”

“That makes me a little nervous,” Dean admitted.

“Especially since they don’t need silver bullets to kill one,” she said.

“Then they’re not true werewolves,” Dean smiled.

“So what are they?” Sam challenged.

She paused, and once again he got the maddening sense that she knew a lot more than she was willing to tell.

“Look, we’re here to find out what’s going around here before it kills anyone,” Dean said. “We’re gonna do it with or without your help, so if you know something, why don’t you just spit it out?”

“I don’t believe that’s wise.”

“Lady, I’ve never been wise before and it hasn’t stopped me yet,” Dean said.

“I didn’t say that I wouldn’t tell you. But this is a trifle too public.”

“So where then?” Sam asked.

“I have a small cabin outside of town. Nice and secluded where we can talk without fear of being overheard.”

Dean looked at Sam and raised an eyebrow. _Well? Your call._

“Sure. We can meet you here, is that okay?”

She nodded, standing up. “I’ll take a rain check on lunch. I have a few things to do before this evening.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Dean asked when she was gone. “I mean, don’t you think it’s a little strange that she just happens to be here when we are? And now she expects us to follow her out in the middle of nowhere?”

“She has a reason, Dean. I know it. I just don’t know what it is. But I don’t believe she wants to hurt us.”

“What, that sweet older lady? Hurt us?” Dean twirled his spoon on the table. “All right. We’ll see what she has.”

The thought filled Dean with an unease that even a huge piece of homemade apple pie couldn’t banish. He would never admit that he didn’t get any sense of danger from Sam’s pet librarian either, but that didn’t change the fact that the whole situation just didn’t smell right, and if Dad had taught them anything, it was to trust their instincts when it came to walking into a trap.

“You don’t trust her,” Sam said.

“No, Sam, I don’t. I don’t have any reason to.”

“Despite the fact that she’s helped us in the past?”

“That doesn’t mean anything, Sammy. Doesn’t this whole job strike you as, well, ‘off’?”

“Yeah, it does,” Sam had to admit. “But that doesn’t mean we should turn our backs on our only lead.”

“At least we’re meeting here. Gives us time to make sure we’re armed. I don’t want any nasty surprises.”

When the sun started setting, the Winchesters headed back to the diner, Dean checking his gun several times before they left. Sam said nothing, hoping that the night would end without either of them having to draw their weapons.

She was waiting, her long brown hair shot with gray tied back and away from her face. Her usual long skirts were gone in favor in a set of robes that were flowing and form-fitting at the same time. She looked more like she was on her way to a séance or a Star Wars convention than into the woods.

“Uh, lady,” Dean began slowly. “You’re a bit overdressed.”

“If we meet a werewolf, this is more appropriate than jeans. Trust me.”

“Do you think that’s likely?” Sam asked.

“I hope not, but it’s always best to be prepared, correct?”

“Well, all right.” Dean pointed at the Impala. “Shall we?”

She bowed her head, gathering the bottom of her robes and pulling them up. She got into the back seat, sitting as relaxed as if she were about to be taken on a Sunday drive. Sam and Dean looked at each other and shrugged. Then they got in and Dean drove through town and past the outskirts, into the heavily-wooded hills.

Despite the early evening light, the trees closed in, plunging the car into a darkness that drew in like a physical force. “So, what is your name?” Sam asked. “Or is it still Ms. Phinar?”

“Close. Delphinar,” she said. “My job necessitates a change of identity when I move, so the variations I use are always close enough so I never lose myself.”

“Hence Ms. Phinar,” Sam nodded.

“And Adelphina, as I was known before. Most of my friends call me Del.”

“You’re a librarian,” Dean said. “Didn’t know that was such a high-powered gig that you’d need a bunch of fake names.”

“I’m more than just a librarian, if you hadn’t guessed already.”

“Then what are you?”

She was about to answer when Sam reared back in the seat, grabbing for Dean’s arm. “Look out!” he shouted as something huge lunged out of the trees and ran straight for the side of the Impala like a battering ram. Dean cursed, slamming on the brakes and turning the wheel to the right, narrowly missing the flank of whatever it was that was moving too fast to be seen.

The car slid off the road in a spray of gravel and dirt, coming to rest nearly sideways, the passenger front tire firmly wedged against a stump.

“Son of a bitch, what the hell was that thing?”

“We must get out, quickly, before he comes back,” Del said, reaching for the door handle. “Before we go on, I want to make sure you both understand one thing. Whatever happens, I will never do anything to hurt either of you. Even in self-defense.”

Dean licked his lips. “Okay . . . that sounds ominous.”

“Just . . . taking precautions that I know from bitter experience are necessary.”

They got out, Dean growling under his breath to see his beloved baby keeled over as if she were drunk, stuck to the front axle in dirt and underbrush. “Gonna need a damn tow truck to get her out now.”

“Dean!” Sam hissed.

“What, is that thing coming back?”

Del shook her head, taking several steps away from the car. “I don’t smell him.”

Sam stopped in his tracks. “How can you tell that?”

Dean drew his gun.

She turned, showing absolutely no fear. “If shooting me will convince you, I won’t try to stop you.”

“You see, Delphinar? These . . . creatures you so passionately defend would kill you on nothing more than a suspicion that you’ve done nothing to confirm, other than behave strangely. They are beneath you.” The voice boomed out from the woods with the force and power of something very large.

She stiffened. “Rolan?”

Dean and Sam instantly closed ranks, shoulder to shoulder. Sam’s gun was out as well. “That damn thing can _talk_?”

“Run,” she commanded, her voice sharp. “ _Run_!”

“Where?” they chorused.

“ _Anywhere_!” she shouted as something exploded from the trees, knocking them both down.

Sam crab-crawled away, trying to find his Taurus that he’d dropped.

Dean fired wildly, the darkness and confusion leaving him without a clear shot. He felt something hot and sharp close on his arm, then the unmistakable feeling of jaws clamping down.

Sam rolled to his knees. “Dean!”

Dean clenched his teeth, doing the only thing he could think of—he dropped the gun into his other hand and bashed the head of the huge animal that had him. It let him go, drawing back enough for him to get a good look at a head that seemed to be mostly a mouth filled with sharp teeth.

Finally Sam shook off his shock enough to fire.

He couldn’t tell if it hit the creature or not; it turned on him, and it was . . . smiling? Dean, who was trying to use the distraction to get further away, was slammed to the ground by one huge paw and pinned there, its long claws starting to dig into his shoulder.

“What the _hell_?” Sam yelped.

Dean screamed; Sam’s lunge was stopped by another low growl, this one from behind him. “Let him go, Rolan.” It was Del’s voice, but yet lower and more animal than he’d ever wanted to hear it.

Sam slowly turned.

Another creature clearly of the same kind as the first stood there, on two legs instead of four. The unsnarling face and calm, steady gaze made it look less immediately threatening despite its size and obvious power. “Rolan, release the boy. You prove nothing by harming someone much weaker than you.”

“He needs to learn a lesson for waving that gun around,” Rolan snarled, digging his claws in further. Dean squirmed like a worm on a hook as they sank in deep.

“Sam, don’t move,” Delphinar said, lowering her shoulders. Before his astonished eyes her form changed to the same four-legged version and she pounced. Rolan yanked his claws out; Dean arched, groaning through his tightly-clenched teeth. Rolan swiped with one massive paw, slamming it into Dean’s other shoulder and flinging him away as he turned to meet Delphinar’s charge.

Sam ignored them and moved, racing to his brother’s side and dragging him out of the line of fire. He couldn’t tell where the blood was coming from or how bad he was hurt, but Dean was limp in his arms, his every movement an expression of pain.

“Dean, Dean . . . ” Sam said his name like a mantra, every motion telegraphing, “Please be okay . . . ”

Behind him the two animals raged, biting and clawing, their screams echoing into the silence around them. Delphinar’s reddish-brown fur, the same shade as her hair, made her slightly easier to see against Rolan’s pure black. Sam held Dean close, watching her huge form keep its position between them and Rolan, backing up, flanking, guarding them as if they were her cubs. Her paws dug into the ground, rooting her huge form in place, her long tail lashing the air. Rolan lunged and snapped but he couldn’t get past her, his form smaller and not as powerful despite the difference in age. 

Finally he withdrew, his lip curled in a snarl. “I tried to make you understand, but apparently you are going to choose humans over your own kind.”

Delphinar roared, a terrifying, blaring sound. When Rolan was gone, she turned back, moving gracefully as a cat, her head somewhere between lion and bear, her body powerfully muscled.

Sam just stared at her as she stopped by their sides, shrinking and merging back to the two-legged form with the same ease he imagined it took to kneel down.

“Don’t touch him!” Sam snapped, pulling Dean closer.

“Sam, listen to me—he’s hurt and we don’t have time to argue. I can help him but only if you _let_ me.” She touched his shoulder, not shying away when he shook her off. “I am not your enemy. I didn’t come out here to ambush you or see you hurt. Please.”

“Everything you’ve said is a lie!” he snapped. “We can’t trust you!”

“I haven’t lied to you once, boy,” she snarled. “Now are you going to let me help him or not?”

Sam pushed her aside, pulling Dean up. He felt something move under his fingers, blood oozing onto his hands. He tried to shift his brother’s weight, moving to stand, but Dean started to fall—

—into strong arms that held him up as if he were a child. Sam met her eyes, not wanting to let his brother go. He was looking into the face and muzzle of an animal, but the eyes were somehow the same as the woman he knew.

“If you love him you will let me _help him_ ,” she said. “You can’t carry him. I can. I promise I’ll give him back.”

He held on for a moment more, then reluctantly let Dean go. One of those huge furry arms slid around Dean’s knees, and she straightened, lifting him, his face pressed against the soft fur of her shoulder, his wound facing upward where no pressure would be exerted. Once secure, she took off, her long legs easily able to outstrip even Sam’s.

Sam followed Adelphina—Phinar—Delphinar—whatever her name really was, watching her carry his brother as if he weighed nothing. He was still reeling from how fast everything had happened and how helpless they both had been. If she hadn’t arrived . . .

He shook his head. _Don’t think like that. The what-ifs can drive you mad._


	3. Chapter 3

He had to jog to keep up with her long strides; she headed through the woods with surprising quickness, never tripping over any of the roots or underbrush that kept him stumbling and nearly falling. Just when he was about to ask her to slow down they came in sight of a small cabin nestled deep into the side of the hill, its squat form revealed only by the very dim light that emerged from within, its windows covered with thick curtains.

She bumped the door open with her hip, light spilling out for the brief moment it took them to get inside. She moved straight to a large wooden table, carefully laying Dean onto his side.

“Sam, please go into the bathroom. Under the sink, in the far left corner, is a small black bag. Please bring it here as quick as you can.”

He ran across the room and into the small bathroom, dropping to his knees and digging frantically. He seized it and turned, getting back to the main room as fast as he could. He froze when he saw her, still in that huge animal form, standing over Dean with a knife. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I have to remove his jacket and shirt, and if I try to take them off I might hurt him worse.” She took the knife and sliced them, revealing more blood than Sam ever wanted to see on a member of his family.

“When I get hold of him he is _dead_!” Dean raged, trying to hold still as she peeled the blood-soaked shirt away from his wounds. “I will have his head on my wall!” His body heaved and he kicked as she swabbed the blood away, followed by a splash of alcohol that nearly sent him skidding off the table. “No, scratch that, I’m gonna stuff his whole body and put him on the hood of my car!” The vicious mauling had penetrated so deep Sam could see muscle and bone.

“Sam, come over here,” she said. “I need you to hold him as still as you can. If he moves too much, I may end up hurting him.”

“Can’t hurt much worse than I do now,” Dean groaned. “Sam, what the hell happened?”

“I’m not quite sure,” Sam replied, cradling Dean’s head and holding his wounded shoulder as he watched their rescuer pull out several strange devices and set them down before her, slender metal tools that lacked any blades or needles or anything that would hint at what they were or did. He noticed for the first time a bundle of fabric around her neck, nestled within her long mane; his eyes grew huge as her giant form started to shrink, the cloth unrolling as the fur receeded, the animal head merging back into the human’s. The seams of her long robes drew together until she once again looked the same as she had when they’d met her at the diner.

She picked up another device which activated with a soft hum and glow. Her fingers gripped it deftly as she placed the tip at the end of one of the large rips; Sam watched with huge eyes as the wound slowly drew closed, the torn flesh knitting back together until it was just a red line. She repeated the process with each claw mark until his shoulder was whole.

“How . . . how . . . ”

“I’ll explain as soon as we get him settled,” she said, cleaning the blood from Dean’s shoulder and arm. “You’re a tough kid,” she murmured, taking another small device and running it over his body. “No broken bones, not even a cracked rib.”

“What is that?” Sam asked. “What _is_ all this?”

“Patience,” she said. “There was severe damage to the muscle, and I have to make sure everything will knit back together good as new.”

Sam bit his lip and fought to keep quiet, forcing his eyes onto the smooth skin that was there in front of him, with some tender red weals the only sign anything had happened. The hands that held Dean so safely now had, just a few moments before, been nearly identical to the ones that had done so much damage.

“Good. Everything is healing up nicely.” She patted Dean’s hand. “You’ll be sore for a while but there’s no permanent damage.” She met Sam’s razor-sharp gaze. “Yes I know you want answers and I’ll give them when we’re done.”

Together they moved Dean to the low-slung couch, settling him in with a light bandage on his shoulder to keep pressure and friction off the newly-healed skin and a quilt around him. She sat across from the brothers, trying to hide her amusement at the difference in their expressions, Dean with the blank, unfocused look of someone half-asleep, and Sam with his steady glare.

“I will do my best to keep things short while explaining as fully as I can. I am not a werewolf. Werewolves as you define them do not exist.”

Sam sat back, the glare vanishing. “That’s not possible; we’ve seen werewolves. Hunted them. Killed them.”

“Perhaps, but they are obviously not the shape-changing furry creatures of your books, movies, and TV shows.”

“That’s just a myth.”

“Yes, but even myths start somewhere. And this one happens to be true, in a manner of speaking. If there are any humans on this planet capable of transforming into a form similar to mine, then they have truly kept themselves completely secret. However . . . I am not human.”

“Then what are you?”

“I’m not a monster, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m from another world.”

If it were possible, Sam looked even more thunderstruck. “So you’re an alien?”

She inclined her head. “My people have been on Earth for over six thousand years, observing humans, studying you.”

“You spy on us,” Dean said.

“No. To spy would imply that there are things you have that we want. Humans do not have any technology or knowledge that we have not already had for millenia.”

“So lemme get this straight. You’re from another planet,” Dean said, struggling to focus.

“Yes.”

“You’re an alien.”

Delphinar smiled. “Yes.”

“And why should we believe you?”

Her expression was as calm and quietly bemused as ever. “Because I just healed your wounds completely in ten minutes without a single stitch? Unfortunately due to my job, that’s the only proof I have. No ship, no way to take you off the planet to prove it to you. All I have is my self-evident proof that I am not human. But I do not wish anyone any harm.”

“On any other day I’d be shooting you full of silver bullets,” Dean said. “But you saved our lives and patched me up . . . so we’re good for now. At least you’re not little and green.”

“No, not hardly.”

“So is that . . . animal-thing the real you?” Sam asked.

“Yes and no. We don’t think of them as separate identities, more like . . . different sides of a unified whole.”

“Have you always been like this?”

“You mean able to shift forms? That is a question we still struggle with. Our advanced technology long ago gave us the ability to take on a form like this, so that we could walk amongst you and learn about you. That is the only reason we’re here. Well, that most of us are here.”

“I take it Big Bad and Ugly out there isn’t here just for a sightseeing tour,” Dean said, fighting to keep his eyes open.

“No, he’s not.”

“You called him by name,” Sam said. “You know him, don’t you?”

“Until this evening I thought I did. He’s been a colleague of mine for many years. I never suspected that he was anything more.” She steepled her fingers, staring into space.

“Maybe we can help,” Sam offered.

“I appreciate the offer, but I doubt it. This is beyond your scope, you could say.”

“Try us,” Dean said.

She considered them both for a moment. “As I said, we are observers. We try to remain unobtrusive as much as possible, keeping our influence on your various cultures to a minimum. The popular myth of humans that transform into giant wolf-like creatures during a full moon is perhaps our biggest failure.”

“There are stories and legends of people transforming into animals that go back to the ancient Greeks,” Sam said. “Are all of them . . . creatures like you?”

“A fair number, yes, though humans had similar stories and legends long before we came to this planet. You’re a quite imaginative species. I think you’d have come up with just as many and varied legends on your own.”

Sam smiled a little. “Yeah, that’s true. So what about this guy?”

“Rolan, yes. It appears now that he is what we call _nahrehsta_. What you would probably term a Dominator.”

“Dominator? Is that like a Terminator or something?” Dean asked.

“No. A Dominator is one of our kind who feels that neromancers—”

“Neromancers?”

“What we call ourselves. Another long story. Anyway, a Dominator believes that neromancers are superior to humans, that with our longer lives and advanced technology we should rule this planet. Back in the seventeeth and eighteenth centuries there was actually a secret war fought amongst ourselves and our human allies with the first Dominator. We have been fighting it to a much lesser extent ever since.”

“So we have a roving monster with a superiority complex. Fabulous,” Dean said.

“So how do we—I mean, do you kill them? These Dominators?” Sam asked.

“If it comes to that. We prefer to simply remove them permanently from this planet. Our paramount concern is keeping them from hurting or killing any of you, and also of revealing ourselves. The latter is probably the only thing we have in common; it would be just as disastrous for them.”

“So why did he attack us? I mean, we didn’t know about any of this before today,” Sam said.

“He probably feels you’re getting too close. The nature of your . . . unusual hobby brings your orbit well into his.”

“All the sightings,” Sam said, the pieces finally falling together. “Those were all him?”

“Him, or others like him. It’s likely that he has a few followers. When humans start to see werewolves, many times it’s for a reason.”

“So what’s the r—” Sam looked down. Dean had finally keeled over, fast asleep.

 

 

“You two are most unusual,” Del said once Sam had migrated from the couch to give Dean room to stretch out. She handed him a mug filled with hot, fragrant tea.

“No kidding,” Sam said, taking a sip. “So how long have you been here? On this planet, I mean.”

“Since the eighteenth century. I left for a time before the Civil War when my younger daughter was born, and came back just in time for the start of the festivities.”

Sam blinked. “You . . . how old _are_ you?”

“Four hundred six this August. When I was born, Shakespeare was publishing his plays for the first time.”

“That’s amazing. Do all of you live that long?”

“If we’re fortunate enough to have good health and avoid accidents, yes. My daughter is here as well; she arrived in 1955.”

“Wow. I guess we must seem pretty insignificant to you.”

“On the contrary. I find humans to be fascinating. Your passion and creativity never fail to amaze me. And for my daughter, who never really felt at home amongst her own people, humans have become a sort of surrogate family.”

Sam just smiled, shaking his head. “It’s ironic; my whole life my family’s hunted things that aren’t human, and now I’m sitting here with an alien having a cup of tea like it’s the most natural thing in the world.”

She raised her mug, clinking it gently against his. “By a strange coincidence, so am I. Besides, why shouldn’t it be natural? I’m flesh and blood and bone, the same as you. I have the same emotions, the same finite lifespan, the same desire for knowledge that I observed in you. It’s nice to see that you haven’t lost it.”

“No, I haven’t. I’m the nerd of the family, as Dean constantly reminds me.”

“A title you should wear with pride,” she said. 

“So what now?” Sam asked. “You don’t make it sound like Rolan is just going to quit.”

“No, likely not. Tenacity is one of his stronger traits. For now, I would advise you both to remain here with me. It will be the safest place. I will see to it that your car is brought here in the morning.”

“You don’t think he’ll do anything to it, do you?”

She closed her eyes for a moment, looking every bit of her four hundred years. “Somehow I doubt it. Rolan has always sneered at all things human. Everything has happened so quickly—I must be careful.”

“I don’t understand something. If he hates us so much, then why is he here? Why would you let him come here?”

She sighed. “It’s not that simple, Sam. Rolan and those like him do not always start out with that point of view. It can develop over time, if one sees too many bad or evil things, they begin to see it everywhere.” Her eyes slid over to his and he was startled at the depth of sadness he could see there. “I’m sure you can understand that.”

“Yes, I can.”

“And unfortunately even we are not always strong enough to fight to keep that anger and despair from turning into something even uglier. There is evidence that Serensha—the first of our people to not only express a desire to rule over humans, but to attempt to actually do it—began with the motivation to save humans from themselves. But in his hands a desire to preserve led only to destruction.”

“So he started with good intentions and they went bad.”

She nodded. “As the best of intentions sometimes do. Too often my people forget that we were once young and stupid. It’s true our history lacks much of the worst chapters of yours, but we are not perfect, and that the wisdom that comes from an advanced age isn’t absolute.”

“So you think Rolan is like that?”

“There is much about him that I don’t understand myself, so I can hardly explain it. But I don’t believe Rolan’s motives were ever pure; he’s too much like a schoolyard bully. I think in his case he was just very skilled at hiding his real feelings, even from us. It’s a limitation for which we must be constantly vigilant.”

“So what are we going to do about it?”

Under other circumstances she would have smiled at the offer, with the expression of one charmed by the offer of help from a child. But the urge was stayed when she saw the seriousness in his gaze, the determination she was used to seeing in her own kind. “Well, for now I suggest we rest and let the night keep its own counsels.”

 

 

Night settled deeper around the cabin. Delphinar sat in the shadows, watching her charges sleep, her eyes glowing brightly from the light above the sink. Near three in the morning, there was a sound of a key in the lock and the door opened, admitting a girl who looked in her late twenties, with long red hair that was almost black in the dim light.

“Quiet now, Jhamera,” Delphinar said. “They’re asleep.”

Jhamera paused. “Who’s asleep?” She came in further, her steps nearly silent despite the boots she wore. “Who are they?”

“They’re involved now. And worse—they’re human.”

Her daughter’s head turned so fast her hair whipped around. “They’re what?” she hissed.

“Quiet,” Delphinar said. “Yes, they’re human. Both of them. Brothers.”

“I knew you sounded urgent on the phone but I had no idea it was this serious. How on earth did they find out about us?”

“Apparently they hunt supernatural beings. Monsters, in other words. And what could be more quintessentially monstrous than werewolves?”

“Oh good God you mean humans haven’t let that _die_ yet?” Jhamera plunked herself down on the small table right next to the couch, ignoring her mother’s hiss to keep quiet. “One neromancer gets seen changing forms and humans build two hundred years of mythology onto it.”

“Yes, they’re very susceptible. That one there, Dean, was mauled by Rolan.”

“Rolan? Are you serious?” She frowned, her wandering gaze falling on the man asleep on the couch. He was about her age, visually speaking, though she could tell his memories probably didn’t extend past the early 1980s. His features were strong even at rest, and she found herself unconsciously running her gaze down his body. “He’s kinda cute,” she said.

“I knew you’d say that,” Delphinar said, amused. “But yes, Rolan has turned. How long he’s been a Dominator, I can’t say. He hid it very well from everyone, even me. He almost killed that boy tonight.”

“So he just attacked? How did these guys get involved?”

“As I said, they hunt supernatural creatures, like werewolves—which apparently do exist, by the way. Sightings of a humanoid wolf-like creature are precisely the kind of thing that draw them. I suppose it’s fortunate that they did not meet Rolan alone.”

Jhamera rolled her eyes. “No kidding. So have you reported him?”

“No. I can’t reach the Titan station or the Alaska station or any of my Earth contacts—all of which he would know as well. It’s possible that he has found a way to jam all Earthbound signals. In which case it may be up to us to stop him.”

“Oh, that sounds like fun. Hey, why don’t you stop Rolan and I’ll guard these two?”

“Believe it or not, that is something like what I had in mind.”

“Ahma, I was kidding.”

“I’m not. I know you haven’t been happy the last few years.” She could almost imagine her daughter’s natural ears drooping at the mention. As it was, her human ears stayed put but the effect was the same.

“I’m okay. I was going to lose him sooner or later.”

“Still, your life went from being fast and exciting to a dead halt. I thought that this might be a way for you to find that meaning you lost.”

“How, by following these guys around, looking for neromancers hiding in the bushes?”

“I wasn’t thinking of anything exactly like that, but they could use your help.”

Jhamera crossed her arms. “Ahma, they’re not going to just let me tag along! It would be . . . weird.”

“Don’t think I haven’t already considered that. At least be here for now while we deal with Rolan. I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“Ahma, don’t talk that way. You’re not old.”

Delphinar smiled. “Living among humans makes you feel ancient, but even so . . . I can feel the years starting to catch up with me.”

“I’m going to leave if you’re going to talk this morbid shit.”

“I need you, Jhamera. If Rolan has any followers I can’t risk being outnumbered.”

“Well, sure I’ll stay if you need me. I don’t have anything better to do.”

Delphinar straightened, her clasped hands on her knees. “Is it that bad?”

“The irony is that I’m just a kid and yet I’m already out of touch. I can’t keep up with things anymore, and the worst part is that I don’t _want_ to.”

“Then perhaps a change of vocation is what you need.”


	4. Chapter 4

Dean Winchester awoke the next morning with a pounding headache, a completely locked shoulder, and a profound sense of disorientation as he sat up, not having the faintest idea where he was for several moments until the bad dream from the night before came rushing back. His eyes automatically moved to search for Sam; his gaze landed on a pile of blankets and cushions on the floor too big to be anyone but.

Trying to sit up brought a whole other host of aches and pains, as well as a frighteningly sharp pain in his head as he pulled himself upright. He reached up, expecting to find his entire arm swaddled in bandages to hide the damage, but his fingers found smooth skin all the way to his shoulder under the quilt someone had given him, and though the muscle underneath was sore, there was no sign of the claw marks he could clearly remember getting.

He tilted his head, aware of a sound coming from behind him. He turned as far as his body would let him, staring for a minute at the person singing in the kitchen area, using a broom for a mike stand. He didn’t recognize the song, something about trying her and she could be all that you need to get high.

It wasn’t Delphinar, who was nowhere to be found, and this female was much younger, wearing torn jeans and a black Led Zeppelin shirt, leather bands on her wrists and heavy boots on her feet making her about as far from ‘librarian’ as Dean could imagine.

He got up slowly, thankful to find that though his shirt was gone, his jeans were still on. He gathered the quilt around him, heading towards the person giving a concert of one. Despite being turned away and focused on the music coming from a small boom box next to the fridge, she clearly heard him, turning around as she let the broom fall from her hand and hit the edge of the counter. 

“Hi there,” she said, smirking. “Thought you might sleep the whole day away.” Her hair was long and straight and the deepest, darkest red Dean had ever seen, one that certainly existed only out of a bottle. Her eyes were huge and striking, cat-like and green.

“I was thinking about it,” he said, sitting and trying not to make any sounds while doing so. “Who are you?”

“Jhamera. Call me Jayme. Who’re you?”

“I’m Dean Winchester.”

“And the other guy?”

“That’s my brother, Sam.” He looked around at the sparse furnishings. “So are you a friend of hers or a coworker or something?”

“Actually, I’m her daughter.”

“Her daughter? Is her whole family here or something?”

“No, just Ahma and me. I don’t think you could convince my sister to come here voluntarily.”

“What about your dad?”

“He’s dead,” she said.

“Oh. I’m sorry.” It felt strange saying it, since her expression was hardly one of bereavement. “I think.”

“Thanks. Yeah, it’s just Ahma and me living in sin with the humans of Earth.”

He chuckled a little, wincing as the movement sent aching thrills through his shoulder. “Yeah, she filled us in last night after that bastard gored me.”

Her smile faded as she came around the table. “I still can’t believe he did that.” She reached for the quilt. “You mind?”

“I mind what?” he asked.

“I want to see how your shoulder’s doing.”

“Why? Are you a doctor?”

“Not exactly, but I know a few things.”

“Yeah, you look it,” he said.

“For your sake I’ll ignore that,” she said, peeling back the light bandage. “Wow. He really got you, huh?”

“Wasn’t that bad,” Dean said with a shrug that ended in a groan.

“Yeah, I’ll bet. Lucky you weren’t in the hands of Earth medicine or you’d have a ton of stitches and staples back here.” Her fingers probed the muscle. “Yeah, it’s all stiffened up here. Happens.” She took his wrist, pulling his arm out horizontal.

“Ow, hey, watch it. What are you doing?”

“Just relax. Gonna help you get these muscle groups going before they stiffen up completely.” Her palm flat on his shoulder, she moved his arm up and down and around in a circle, kneading the muscles as she did. Dean fought to hold still, not sure if he were enjoying it or not. “We can heal most injuries, but even if you can’t really see it, the trauma still happened.”

“So you’re saying I’m sore but at least I don’t still have big rips in my flesh.”

“Exactly.”

“I can live with that.” He held still as she lifted his arm up, her other hand still kneading. “I think two or three more days of this and I’ll be good as new.”

“At least it wasn’t your shifting arm.”

“My what?”

“You try and put that Impala in gear with this arm and you’ll be biting the steering wheel.”

His eyes widened. “My baby—where is she?”

“Right outside, back around the side where you can’t see it from the road.”

Forgetting he was shirtless, forgetting his stiff arm, forgetting Sam, he got up, heading for the door and out to check on his baby. Muttering about humans and their cars, she ran after him.

The front tires and hubcaps were still spattered with dirt and he found a small collection of leaves and sod clinging to the underside of the bumper, but that appeared to be the extent of the damage. “How’d you get it here?”

“Uh, I drove it?”

He straightened. “I mean how’d you get it off the edge of the road without a tow truck? It was stuck pretty good.”

“Well, I’m kinda my own tow truck. Didn’t take much to lift the front end and push it back up on the road.”

“Oh, yeah. Forgot about that. That’s gotta come in handy, huh?”

“Sometimes. We can’t exactly change forms and go to the local grocery store, you know?”

“Yeah, I guess that would cause panic in the streets.” His hand slid along his jeans pockets. “Where’s my keys?”

She reached into her pocket, handing them over. “I didn’t joyride and I kept it under seventy. Didn’t even do any J turns.”

Dean took them with an unamused glare.

“Just relax, papa. I didn’t hurt your girl. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen one in this good condition.”

He relaxed a little. “Didn’t think you’d be into cars.”

“Not on any kind of serious level, no. I can drive them and change tires and oil and stuff like that, but that’s it. She ran her hand down the front panel. “They do not make them like this anymore.”

“No, they sure don’t. So what’s your favorite?”

She turned, leaning on the car. “Well, as much as I love a mid-sixties GTO, I have to say the 1970 Dodge Challenger. I used to own one; 440 engine and a white paint job.”

“Whoa, you mean like in—”

“ _Vanishing Point_ , yeah.”

“Holy crap, you know movies, too.”

“Of course I do,” she said as if it were painfully obvious.

“But you’re an alien.”

“So? I’ve been here about twenty years longer than you’ve been alive. Besides, it’s my job.”

“What is?”

“Pop culture. Music, mainly, but movies and television and music are so connected in your culture. But I haven’t really had the heart for it the last few years. After John died, a lot of the magic went out of it.”

“John?”

“Entwistle. Of the Who.”

His eyes went huge. “You . . . _know_ . . . the _Who_?”

“Yeah. I know a lot of those folks. Part of the job is to observe from the inside, so I spent a lot of years meeting people, getting to know people who knew people and after a while they all knew me, so I could pretty much move in all those circles.”

He shivered, realizing that he was standing in the chill air without a shirt on. He took out the keys and went over to the trunk, digging around until he found his last clean shirt. “Man, your life is like my dream come true, you know?”

“I get that a lot.” She stuck her hands in her pockets as they headed back to the cabin. “I don’t know, I guess coming from another planet I have a different perspective on it, but I can definitely see why rock stars and movie stars inspire such worship. Just being around it is amazing.”

“Think you could introduce me to some sometime?”

“Depends what you’ll do for me,” she said with a wink.

“Lemme get back to you on that.” He followed her in, glancing into the main room in time to see Sam sit up, yawning hugely as he stretched. “Look who’s up. It’s about time, Sammy.”

“Hey,” he said, his voice still thick with sleep. “Where’s Del? Who’s that?”

“He’s been up five seconds and already he’s asking questions,” Dean said. “Jayme, this my brother Sam. Sam, this is Jayme, Del’s daughter.”

“Daughter? I didn’t know anyone else was here.”

She smiled, nearly laughing. “When I got here last night you both were out for the count.”

“How’s your shoulder, Dean?”

Dean shrugged with his right side. “I’ll live.” He could see the worry in Sam’s eyes, which meant he’d been hurt a lot worse than anyone was letting on. “That bad, huh?”

Sam just nodded. “It was horrible. I didn’t know what to do. Lucky Del did.”

“All I remember is that there wasn’t any sewing,” Dean said.

“Not with our technology, no,” Jayme said. “You guys hungry?”

“God, yes,” Dean said.

They headed into the kitchen area, Jayme pulling out a skillet and some eggs. “Bacon or sausage?”

“Yes,” Dean replied, sitting down at the table that had doubled as an operating room the day before. “Didn’t think you guys could eat normal food.”

“Define ‘normal’,” she said, turning on the stove. “We eat most of the things that humans do where meat is concerned. The rest, not so much.”

“You’re carnivores,” Sam said, sitting down next to Dean. “Obligate, or . . . ?”

“We need meat protein, but we can digest a few other things. And we can eat just about anything, just not necessarily draw any nourishment from it.”

“Girl after my own heart,” Dean said, grinning. “Steaks and hamburgers, huh?”

“And chicken, and cheeseburgers, potatoes . . . ”

“The high cholesterol . . . ” Sam said.

“Not the way I cook, honey.” She went into the fridge, pulling out several items. “Ahma doesn’t have much in here for the non-meat crowd, but I doubt either of you object to some eggs, toast, bacon, and sausage?”

“I can handle that,” Sam said. “Need any help?”

“If you can manage the toaster, sure.”

Dean just sat, watching them. Despite the strangeness of it all he felt almost content. “So where’s Del?”

“She went out this morning to see if she can get around Rolan’s communications blackout.”

“What blackout?” Sam asked.

“She thinks he’s jamming the circuits we use to communicate with each other. He also might have the ability to track and block her if she tries to use Earth communication.”

“Whoa, he can do that?”

“Possibly.”

“You don’t know?”

She leaned back on the counter. “We don’t know how strong he is, how many others he might have on his side, how deep it goes. Until we find out we have to try to keep him from hurting anyone.”

“Too late,” Dean said, rubbing his shoulder.

“Yeah. But don’t worry; we won’t let him hurt you again. Or you for the first time,” she said, patting Sam on the shoulder.

“You don’t think he’d try to attack us here, do you?”

“He won’t if he has any sense. I’d shred him.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You?”

She stirred the eggs, reaching for a plate. “You saw Ahma last night, right? In her other forms?”

“Yeah, so?”

“I outweigh her by nearly two hundred pounds and I’m five inches taller.”

“You? C’mon . . . ”

“Dean,” Sam said, juggling a few pieces of toast. “Del looks like the most harmless librarian in the history of forever but you saw what she can turn into.”

“And you can do that too?” Dean asked.

“Did he get hit in the head?” Jayme said. “Yes, champ, all of us can.”

Sam snickered at Dean’s glare. “So I take it since Rolan is smaller than your mom he wouldn’t really stand a chance against you, right?”

“Probably not, but I don’t know. Never fought him.” She piled eggs on the plate, setting it on the table, then handed Dean an empty one. “So do you guys just hunt werewolves?”

“Anything supernatural,” Dean said. “If it’s a spirit or a monster and it’s hurting people, we go after it.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“You think this is fun?” they said in unison.

“Don’t you?”

“Our dad raised us to do this,” Sam said. “It’s not fun. Trust me.”

“Then why don’t you quit? Do something else.”

Dean shook his head. “It’s not that simple.”

“So, tell me.” She perched on the counter, eating a piece of bacon. There was no judgment in her eyes, no skepticism.

“It’s our family business,” Dean finally said.

“And?”

“And that’s all you need to know.”

“You don’t want to tell me, fine,” she said, shrugging.

“It’s not that,” Sam said. “It’s just . . . a really long story and I don’t know that you’d believe us.”

“You could always try. I’ve learned that reality isn’t always as dry as it seems.” When both of them remained silent, she hopped down from the counter. “Hey, it’s okay. I was just trying to make conversation.”

“So why’d you come here?” Dean asked. “Just backup?”

“I guess. Ahma hasn’t told me much yet, but she needed someone else in case Rolan isn’t working alone, and I wasn’t doing anything better with my time.”

“How come?” Sam asked, putting a few pieces of bacon on Dean’s plate. “Don’t you have a job here observing or whatever?”

“Technically yes, but my heart’s not in it anymore. It’s not like they’d make me leave if I don’t want to, but wandering around with nothing to do gets old real fast.” Dean snorted. “Oh, it’s fun at first. Sleep in, don’t have to be anywhere at a particular time, no one bothering you, but after about a month you start wishing for something to do.”

“Wish I could get burdened with that problem,” Dean said.

“Dean, you’d be climbing the walls in a week and doing anything to find a hunt,” Sam said.

“Hunt?” Jayme said. The brothers could almost imagine a pair of catlike ears rising up with interest. Since hers were firmly human and immobile, her eyebrows created the same effect.

“Yeah. That’s what we call it.”

“So that’s what you were on when you stumbled into our little internal security problem, huh?”

“Exactly. Reports of werewolf sightings are usually the big tipoff that something supernatural is going around.”

“And what we couldn’t figure out is why there weren’t any victims,” Sam said.

“Probably because Rolan and other dipshits like him don’t want to put themselves on the radar with humans. He’s as vulnerable to your military and law enforcement as anyone.”

“Then why risk letting himself be seen in his other forms?” Sam asked.

“Apparently it’s like some Dominator test or ritual or something. That if they truly believe that we’re superior to humans they should be brave enough to change forms to prove they’re not afraid or something.”

Dean frowned. “Sounds like going up to someone’s house and ringing the doorbell and then running away.”

Jayme blinked, then started laughing. “Holy crap, I never thought about it like that! That’s brilliant!”

Sam glanced at Dean, who smiled and nodded his head. He was almost surprised to see his brother make no move to start flirting with her, but then again, she wasn’t human. Looking back at her, Sam certainly couldn’t see any difference.

“Anyway, now that he knows that you guys know, he’ll want to keep you from telling anyone about it.”

Dean shrugged. “Let him try and I’ll fill that ugly pelt of his with bullets.”

“If he doesn’t take your head off first. Best to let Ahma and I take care of him.”

Suddenly Dean’s back stiffened and his eyes narrowed, flashing with anger. “We don’t need your protection!” His voice had gone cold and Sam watched him carefully, making sure he didn’t go too far.

She held up her hands. “Hey, you guys are capable of taking care of yourselves. But we’re not talking about your typical threats.” 

“She’s right, Dean.”

“No she’s not!”

“Look, I saw what happened last night! How easily he knocked you down and almost killed you! If I’d shot him ten times it wouldn’t have made a damn difference!”

“Sam . . . ” Dean rounded on him.

“Hey, he’s concerned about you! Consider yourself lucky!” Jayme snapped.

“You stay out of this!”

“Your brother is full of pride,” she said to Sam. “But up to now I didn’t think he was stupid.”

“So what? You’re gonna get in front of us and keep us from getting hurt? And we’re supposed to just stand there with our thumbs up our butts?”

“Look, you can do whatever you want. But I didn’t think the offer of having seven hundred pounds of flesh between you and something the size of a bear would be so unwelcome.”

Sam put up his hands. “It’s not. Believe me. We’re grateful for any help you’d want to give us. We’re just used to fending for ourselves.”

“I know. I can sense that about you, and I respect it. But it’s also a sign of wisdom to know when to accept help.”

Dean blinked. “What?”

She looked at him. “What what?”

“Nothing. Just . . . forget it.”

They all jumped as the door opened, a gust of chill wind chasing Delphinar in. She looked even more worried and distracted than she had been the night before, but still managed to retain a good portion of her normal reserve.

“Anything?” Jayme asked.

“No. I can’t reach anyone through our means or theirs. I’ll have to leave directly. I need you to take them to safety, immediately.”

“Hey, wait just a minute,” Dean said. “No one is ‘taking’ us anywhere until you explain just what the hell is going on!”

“Rolan is coming for you. You’ve seen him, you know of him and of us. He will do what it takes to kill you both, and I do not intend to let that happen. That is what’s going on. What other information do you require?”

“None,” Sam said, even though it was clear from Dean’s expression that he hadn’t come up with a reply yet. “But what about you?”

“I’m flattered by your regard for my safety, but right now you two are in worse danger. I can take care of myself.”

“Ahma, I think I should stay,” Jayme said. “You shouldn’t be taking on Rolan by yourself.”

“Jhamera, your job is to make sure Sam and Dean make it out of here. Had I had my choice they would never have been involved to begin with, but that’s under the bridge. This place is isolated enough that Rolan will have nothing to keep him from changing forms. Once they’re in a more densely-populated area that advantage will vanish and he will not be able to hurt them. You _have_ to get them there, do you understand?”

Jayme paused, looking at her mother as if she’d never seen her before. She’d never heard her speak with such force or command before, never seen the kind green eyes that she’d inherited so filled with a fearful kind of determination, an anger that was totally out of place coming from a woman who stood for peace. She finally found her voice. “Ahma, I—”

Delphinar closed the gap between them in a second, grabbing Jayme’s face not with anger, but desperation. “Go, now. There’s no time to explain further, but as of now they are your only concern.”

“I don’t like the idea of leaving you here by yourself,” Dean said. “No matter what you can change into.”

“Again, I appreciate the concern, but you both are, no offense, more susceptible than I am. Now, if you force me to overpower you and tie you both up and have Jhamera drive you out of here I will, but I think we would all prefer it the other way.”

“All right,” Dean said. “C’mon, Sam. Let’s get outta here. Jayme, you get the back seat.”

She took the leather bands off her wrists and dropped them on the table, followed by her rings and belt. “I’ll be back for these,” she said. “I’ll expect them and you to be here.”


	5. Chapter 5

The ride was tense, Sam gripping the gun in his lap that he intended to tuck under the seat if they came upon anyone clearly human. Dean was white-knuckling it, steering one-handed on the dirt-and-gravel track cut through the trees. Jayme sat in the back, her eyes constantly sweeping back and forth.

“Jayme, you don’t think he has any followers, do you?” Sam asked.

“No way of knowing. It’s very hard for Dominators to mobilize; they have to do everything with this kind of double secrecy that it’s pretty impossible for them to gather in large groups. But we don’t really know a whole lot of details about how they operate. We try to remove them but most of them don’t get taken alive, if you get my meaning.”

“Good,” Dean said. “Because I’d hate to see that son of a bitch walk away from all this.”

The side of Jayme’s mouth quirked. “Let’s hope you have the walk to back that up. If he does have any allies, you’re gonna need it.”

“Do they have any vulnerabilities?” Sam asked. “I mean you. I mean your people.”

“We can be hurt by bullets and blades like anyone else. Eyes, throat, underbelly are all susceptible.” She hesitated. “Don’t know if I should tell you this, but . . . if we’re in our human forms and you can put something around our necks—solid, like a rope or a chain or something, we can’t change forms.”

“Because it would strangle you,” Sam said.

“Exactly. Might not be that useful if we run into one already in her beast form, but you never know.” 

“Beast form? That what you call it?” Dean said, relaxing only a little. She seemed pretty calm, so maybe they’d make it out without any unpleasant run-ins.

“That’s what I call it,” she said. “Thanks to a line of John’s on The Who Sell Out.”

Sam just blinked in confusion while Dean chuckled. “Beast of a man, huh?”

She winked, about to say something when her posture changed. Pulling her legs up until she was crouching, she grabbed Dean’s shoulder. “I need to you to stop and turn the car into a skid, driver’s side facing back the way we came and I need you to do it in the next five seconds.”

Deciding that her tone and the hard, almost bruising grip on his uninjured shoulder were definite signals that now was not the time for questions, Dean did as she ordered, using the wheel and brakes to skid the Impala just enough on the road to put it at an angle. As he did he realized why; she slid out the open window, concealed from whatever it was ahead of them.

“Dean,” Sam said, tensing in his seat. From the dense foliage about twenty yards away, a large animal emerged. Its kinship with both Delphinar and Rolan was clear as soon as it turned towards the car, moving with the slow, deliberate steps of a predator, its light brown fur catching bits of sunlight and shining like good hardwood.

“Rolan told me you’d be coming, but not that he was sending you to me canned like sardines! I’m disappointed; I prefer fresh meat.” The voice was clearly female.

“Shit!” Dean hissed, grabbing for his gun. Jayme was nowhere to be found. “Now I know how that chick and her kid from Cujo felt!”

 

 

Delphinar waited until the car was gone, then stepped outside. The cabin was small; just a single large room with one bedroom and one bathroom, but it had been enough to protect her human charges through the night, which meant it had more than served its purpose.

Even though it was late morning, the air carried the bite and chill of late evening, bringing a cold that she knew she felt more than most humans. Looking up at the sky, which was far bluer than the mild orange-tinged cast of Katarin, she waited until Rolan had closed within speaking distance. “You’re too late. They’re gone, and my daughter is with them.”

“I didn’t come here for your human whelps.”

“Then what?”

“You.” He moved closer, his dark eyes fixed on her green ones as she lowered her gaze to meet his. “You know I’ve always respected you, Del. Your compassion, your wisdom, your conviction, your intelligence. You have no idea how much it hurts me to see you waste your time on these pathetic creatures. You are so much more than they are.”

“I wonder if you would be surprised to learn that it hurts me to see you shut your heart and mind so much to love and understanding and open it to hate and arrogance. I probably find humans to be as backward and primitive as you do. But I do not believe that it’s a waste of time; they’re young and have so much to learn, and their struggles can teach us. We were not always as we are now, you know.”

“We were never as savage as this pathetic species. They butcher each other over money, gods, skin color, and on and on. Endless excuses for petty savagery that has not let up in thousands of years, not even after the birth of the man some of them look on as a singular divine deity who commanded them to love one another. Under his banner they have murdered countless millions. A race this corrupt and incompetent should not be allowed to govern themselves.”

Del loosely clasped her hands in front of her. “I question the ability of anyone to ‘govern’ in such a way without becoming themselves a tyrant of even greater cruelty. Besides, we have no authority over humans. We are here to observe and learn.”

Rolan nodded, his dark eyes closing. “I wish I could make you understand.”

Del’s voice was hard. “Likewise.”

“So there is nothing I can do to convince you to join me?”

“So long as you remain on this path, no. In fact, the compassion and conviction you admire so much in me obligates me to block your path if I must.”

“Very well. If that’s your decision.”

 

 

Sam lifted his shotgun and fired at the approaching neromancer; the bullet struck her chest, missing becoming a direct hit thanks to her last-second twist. She growled, her lips drawing back over long white teeth; unlike earth cats and wolves, their fangs were smaller, but where lions had four, neromancers had six, two on the bottom and four on top, one pair longer than the other.

None of it made her look any less frightening to Sam, who leaned back as she ran forward with amazing speed before he had time to even think of rolling up the window—not that it would stop her.

Dean braced himself, wondering if he could get the Impala in gear and move it fast enough to avoid the collision. He glanced in the side mirror in time to see something huge and red come charging from the other direction at a dead run. “Oh shit,” he said, grabbing for the gear shift. Just when it seemed time to close his eyes and wait for the crunch of steel and shattering glass, a shadow passed over the car as the second neromancer leaped over it, landing on the other side just as Sam was arching back towards Dean.

The female who had been about to eat them was big, but the newcomer was even bigger, broad-shouldered and tall, its fur the same color as Jayme’s hair.

“Dean, is that—?”

“I don’t know, man,” Dean said, his eyes never leaving the two giant creatures circling each other like wary felines. Jayme kept between the other and the car, her long body turned to the side to present a wall of muscle that would have to be punched through to get to them. He had a vague notion that Del had done something similar the night before.

“Get out of my way,” the other neromancer said. “This isn’t your fight, _trebhasta_.”

“Not gonna happen,” Jayme rumbled.

“I have no quarrel with you.”

“You do now, hon. I can’t stand unfair fights.”

The other neromancer grinned. “It’s fair. They have their little weapons.”

“Yeah, and I can see they already tagged you. Consider it a freebie. Now get the hell out of here before I give you a bigger one to remember me by.”

“You’re just as stubborn and misguided as your mother. You know, that’s who you should be worried about right now.”

Jayme’s snarl vanished. “What?”

“Oh, she doesn’t know! You don’t have your mother’s keen senses, apparently.” A toothy grin spread across the lionlike face. “I was supposed to take care of these little creatures, but I have to say this is a nice bonus. While you’re here, Rolan is asking Delphinar to join us.”

Jayme’s snarl returned. “Ahma would _never_ do that.”

“Then she’s standing in our way.”

“Dean, they’re gonna kill her!” Sam grabbed the door frame, pulling his head out. “Jayme, we have to get back to your mother! Now!”

Jayme took a step closer to Rolan’s accomplice. Her movements were slow and deliberate, her head moving lower to the ground as her mane puffed out. “I’m giving you one chance to walk away. Turn me down and I will kill you where you stand.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” the female replied, nevertheless taking a step back from the inexorable force heading for her. “You’d risk everything just for these humans?”

“You prepared to die to find out?” Jayme paused, her hindquarters lowering for just a moment as she pounced, the top of her head ramming into the female with the force of a tank, knocking her down with a heavy thud and flail of legs. “Now get out of here!” Jayme roared, slashing with her front paw and further opening the wound on the female’s shoulder. With the apparent decision that challenging Jayme would be suicide, she got up and ran off into the woods, heavily favoring her right front leg.

Jayme turned to the car. “I have to get back. You should come with me.”

“Just try and keep us here!” Dean said. “Lemme get the car turned around!”

“No time,” Jayme said, moving into her two-legged form. She went to the front of the car and gripped underneath the bumper.

“Dean, what is she d—” Sam began, grabbing the dashboard as Jayme lifted the front end of the car, carefully moving it around until it was facing the way they’d come.

“Damn. Guess she wasn’t lying about being her own tow truck,” Dean said, releasing the steering wheel from his death grip.

“Try to keep up,” she said, merging seamlesssly back to four legs before springing forward into a run. Dean gunned the engine, sending a spray of gravel and dirt behind them as he followed.

 

 

“Why don’t you fight, Delphinar?” Rolan circled her, eyeing his handiwork. The left side of her face had been opened by the claws he had carefully sharpened the night before. She hadn’t retaliated then, nor when he had flung her to the ground. Instead she’d merely risen, gazing at him steadily with no sign of fear. “Are you as weak as a human now as well?”

“You’re quick to resort to violence, just like the humans you revile,” she said, maintaining her quiet dignity. “I see no reason to join you.”

“I also hate pacifists,” Rolan snarled. “You’ve been here so long you’ve forgotten what it is to be of Katarin, what it is to be a neromancer.” 

“We do not murder for personal gain. If that is your interpretation of being a neromancer, then I am proud not to be one.” She carefully removed her glasses and tucked them in her pocket, removing a stray leaf from her skirt. “So. Whatever it is you intend to do, I suggest you do it.” She met Rolan’s gaze, the larger eyes that now peered out from above the black muzzle that was beginning to curl back. When he struck his teeth met not human flesh, but fur and mane.

The fight was on.

 

 

“How fast is she running, Dean?” Sam asked as the car skidded around a bend. Jayme’s long tail and churning legs were just visible ahead.

“Just under fifty now,” Dean said, glancing down at the spedometer. On open asphalt he knew the car would have rocketed past her, but on a narrow dirt road they were more evenly matched. His mind raced with how fast everything had gotten twisted around, as well as an unexpected fear about what they’d find. Alien or not, Del had been kind to them and had saved their lives, and her daughter wasn’t bad, either.

“It’ll be okay, Dean,” Sam said.

“What, I’m not worried.”

“Then why are your knuckles white?”

“Because I’m trying to keep the damn car on the road, that’s why!” Dean snapped.

The first shadows of afternoon were beginning to lengthen when they finally reached the cabin, Jayme rounding the top of the gentle slope and disappearing from view for the few seconds it took for Dean to round the car to the side. They got out, each of them holding their weapons at the ready, not knowing what to expect.

Sam reached the top first, gazing down the sloping lawn with its weeds and leaves. Jayme was only a few feet away, rooted in place as if she were a statue, her sides still heaving with exertion, though her mouth was hanging open for what he quickly realized was an entirely different reason.

“Ahma,” she breathed, her legs in motion before the word was out. She raced down to the still shape sprawled in the leaves next to the cabin’s side door.

Dean came up to Sam’s side. “Aw damn,” he said. “Is that—”

“Looks like it,” Sam whispered. He stumbled down after Jayme, trying to shut out her cries, which were getting louder now that it was clear that the shape she was shaking was not going to move.

Dean hung back; not only because the sounds of grief made getting any closer seem awkward, but because it felt too much like a trap, like something was waiting for them to get close before pouncing. “C’mon, Rolan,” he growled under his breath. “I know you’re still out there. Waiting to finish the job, huh?”

Sam crouched as near to Jayme as he dared. Delphinar was in her beast form, her green eyes open and staring sightlessly at the sky. It hadn’t been apparent from further away, but when he got close he could see the terrible wound in her throat, which had been torn almost completely out. Blood pooled around her head and neck, sinking into the soil and leaves until they were nearly black.

“Jayme, I’m so sorry,” he said, cringing at how stupid and useless the words seemed. Despite her huge size, Jayme was keening like a lost puppy, the sounds inarticulate and convulsive, coming out with each breath and seemingly independent of her control.

“She didn’t even fight back,” Rolan’s voice growled as he came around the corner. His jaws were smeared with blood, his black fur giving him the distinct air of a hellhound. Dean turned, aiming his gun, and Sam took a step back, covering Jayme, who hadn’t seemed to register his presence.

“Why?” Sam demanded, his voice lowering into a snarl.

“I gave her the chance to join me. I couldn’t let her live otherwise.”

Rage shot through him and he raised his gun. “You murdered her.”

“Stupid human, I murdered no one. We fought, and she left her mark. Now I tie up my loose ends.”

Jayme’s head came up, turning toward Rolan with a deadly slowness. A slow rumbling rippled along her flanks, growing louder as her muzzle slowly parted. Sam could see the rage building, not coming white-hot but rising from a slow boil to some peak he didn’t want to think about. When she spoke it wasn’t English, the words that probably sounded pretty under normal circumstances coming out in a snarl that turned them into curses. Rolan backed up, his replies coming in the same language with a sneering, taunting tone that was not hard to figure out.

With a roar Jayme leaped at him, fangs and claws out. Holding still, Rolan waited until she was on top of him, then ducked her clumsy, out-of-control swipe, his quick jaws catching her leg and biting deep. Dean waited until she’d fallen, then fired three bullets in quick succession, each one finding its mark, the first hitting his shoulder, the second skittering along his ribs, and the third piercing his ear.

“Dean!” Sam shouted as Rolan pounced; but the same anger that had made Jayme’s attack too hasty made his the same, and Dean was able to avoid him with a quick move and roll, feeling one of his paws sweep by and missing him by less than an inch. 

Sam fired, his shot tearing through the top of Rolan’s mane and nicking the top of his neck, judging by the blood that sprayed. His gun empty, he fumbled in his pocket for more shells as Rolan backed up, hunkering down in preparation to spring. His fingers found a shell, which skittered away. Dean got to his knees, lifting his gun despite the obvious pain in his shoulder, and fired again, sending a bullet slamming into Rolan’s hind leg. The neromancer whirled with a snarl, slamming his paw into Dean’s side and sending him flying.

Jayme was up on her feet, blood running down her leg. She waited until Rolan’s head was turned, then leaped, her jaws closing on his left hind leg. Rolan roared and twisted, slamming his claws into her head and knocking her away. Sam finally found the shells and jammed them into the shotgun, snapping it up and lifting it to fire—

Finding Rolan close. Too close.

The broad head, flatter like a tiger or bear, slammed into Sam’s abdomen and lifted him as he fell forward, moving with such power that Sam felt the ground disappear from under his feet. He grabbed for something, anything, his hand finding and gripping the tattered, bloody ear; he yanked it hard, driving a groan from the neromancer, who responded by jerking his head down, then up, driving the air from Sam’s lungs and tossing him into the air. He landed hard, unable to breathe or see anything but the blinding white sky.

“Sam!” Dean howled, clawing his way to his knees, then up. Jayme was stirring, shaking her head and trying to gain her feet, but Dean beat her to it, grabbing the shotgun that had been jolted from Sam’s hands. Rolan had moved over Sam, his huge paw pressing on Sam’s chest until he was gasping for air. Dean moved in as quick as he dared, getting close enough to make the shot count. “Hey, fugly!” he snarled.

The wounded neromancer turned to him, mouth open in a snarl; Dean lunged, jamming the end of the short weapon into his mouth and pulling the trigger. Shock filled the eyes of the mortally wounded neromancer, his jaw falling open and useless as he staggered back, trying in vain to breathe through his shattered mouth and throat. Gagging on his own blood, he swayed and fell onto his side.

Everything fell back into silence, Dean’s ragged breaths too loud in his own ears. He kept his gaze on Rolan, moving between the dying neromancer and Sam, who was slowly sitting up, his hand clutching his ribs.

“You okay, Sammy?” Dean asked.

“I think so. Jayme?”

Jayme was focused on Rolan, watching as his last breaths steamed into the air, waiting until he was still. She turned away, limping back over to Delphinar’s body, her form shifting and changing until she was back in her human form, making no attempt to cover herself as she knelt down, burying her face in her mother’s fur.

“Dean, we should help her,” Sam said, taking the hand Dean offered. He straightened, fighting back the sounds of pain trying to emerge.

“We take care of you first,” Dean said. “How many busted ribs you have?”

“I think . . . all of them?”

“Go on inside. I’ll get Jayme.”

“You sure?”

“You wanna try bending over right now?”

Sam winced. “Good point.” He headed for the cabin, pausing next to Jayme. He thought about saying something, but at the moment words seemed totally inappropriate.

Dean headed back to the car, opening the trunk and taking out an old blanket. It wasn’t much—a castoff they kept for the occasional times when sleeping in the car was a necessity—but it would do for the moment. He went back to Jayme, trying to ignore the body with its staring eyes, and draped it over her, careful to tuck it under her injured arm and around. She was trembling hard, her cries having trailed off to sobs. He half expected her to jerk away or slash at him with her long nails as he tried to get her up, but she yielded to him, all the fight apparently fled.

“C’mon, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” He ignored the pain in his shoulder, shifting her weight to his good arm and lifting her up, momentarily staggered by how heavy she was. “Damn, girl! You’re heavier than you look!”

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

“It’s okay. I’ll forgive you this time.” He bumped the door open with his hip and carried her inside. “Sammy! Those whatever-they-are that Del used to patch me up! Where are they?”

“Right here,” Sam said, carrying the bag over. “I don’t know how to use them, Dean.”

“That’s okay, I don’t either.” Dean set Jayme down in front of the sink. “Listen, I know how you feel, but you gotta snap out of it. Unless you want me sewing your arm up.”

“I’m here,” she said, watching as he washed the blood from her arm until the punctures and tears from Rolan’s bite were visible. “Are you two okay?”

“Sam’s got some busted ribs but he’ll live,” Dean replied.

“And you?”

“I’m fine, sweetheart. Nevermind about me.” He held a towel under her arm as he steered her towards the table. “You okay handling this?”

“Yeah, I can manage,” she said, her eyes getting a little clearer at the prospect of having something else to focus on. She took out one of the tools, which looked to Dean like a fat laser pointer, and turned it on, slowly running it over her wounds, starting at one end. The tears slowly closed until her arm was whole, with the same red weals that had vanished from Dean’s shoulder sometime that day. She took out another one, oblong with a small projection at one end, and pressed it to her arm. It hissed softly, leaving a tiny red dot on her inner arm.

“What was that?”

“Antibiotic,” she said. “So I don’t get infected from the bite.”

“That what happened last night?” Dean asked Sam.

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Pretty amazing, huh?”

“I don’t suppose that thing can heal broken ribs,” Dean said.

“Sure it can,” Jayme said. “Jacket off and lift your shirt, Sam.”

Dean went around the table, helping Sam take his jacket off. He hated to see Sam hurt but at least in this case it was something easily healed—more easily than ever, now that he thought about it. “Jayme, if you wanna tell me, I can take care of the bodies out there.”

“Bodies?” she said, looking at him dazedly. “Oh, right. Um, I have to call my people. We can’t bury them here.”

“What about cremation?” Sam asked as gently as he could as she pulled his shirt up and gently probed his ribs.

“No. We can’t leave any physical trace of our presence that could possibly reveal us. No ashes, bones, skele-skeletons, nothing.” She swallowed hard, her eyes closing for a moment. “Listen, this is going to hurt, but you need to hold as still as you can, okay?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, gripping the edge of the table. It did hurt, in a dull aching kind of way, the bones grinding at first, then thrills of pain as they knit back together. He tried to keep his pain confined to short breaths, nodding towards Dean as if say “I’m okay.”

“So how do we contact your people?” Dean asked. “Your mom said Rolan was blocking her.”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “Ahma didn’t have time . . . to tell me.”

“Dean, what about us?” Sam said, sighing in relief as Jayme finished. “He wouldn’t be blocking us, right?”

“That might work,” Jayme said. “Got anyone you trust, who can relay a message without asking questions?”

Dean met Sam’s gaze. “Yeah. Bobby.”

“Bobby?”

“He’s kind of our uncle, sort of,” Sam said.

“Kind of your uncle, sort of,” she said. “Okay. See if he’ll make a call and relay a message. I’ll try to make it as vague as possible.”


	6. Chapter 6

In the end Bobby did far less griping and questioning than Dean expected, besides the usual growled “What the hell have you two idjits gotten yourselves into now?” He agreed to call the number Dean gave him, relaying the simple message Jayme had finally worked out: “Dominator found and eliminated. Collateral injury, urgent help needed, out of contact. North Carolina location.”

Jayme showered and dressed, coming out looking a little more composed, but her eyes still swollen and dazed. “Should only be a couple hours,” she said, more tears falling. “I don’t want to go out there . . . would one of you maybe go out and cover . . . cover Ahma up? I can’t stand the thought of her out there, just on the ground like that.”

“Yeah, I’ll go,” Dean said, hurrying out the door.

“What was that about?” Sam said. “He’s been acting weird all day.”

“Don’t ask me,” Jayme said, sitting back down at the table and putting her head in her hands. “Is this really happening? Am I really here?”

Sam sat down next to her, gently rubbing her back. “I’m afraid it is. I wish I could take it back.”

“I don’t know if I can take this.”

“Hey, look at me.” He waited until those huge green eyes that were indistinguishable from human ones were looking at him. “You can survive this. Trust me. It’s gonna hurt like hell but your life is not over.”

“You talk like you’re coming from experience.”

“I am.” He hesitated. “My girlfriend was killed. By a demon. The same demon that killed our mother.”

“Oh,” she said, her eyes growing wide. “That’s awful. That was a really damn stupid thing to say, but still.”

“Yeah. So we both know what it’s like. But you pick yourself up and keep moving.”

She swallowed hard, then nodded. “Yeah. It’s just . . . it all happened so fast. I never even got a chance to say goodbye.”

Sam had no idea what to say. “Listen, Dean and I’ll stay here as long as you need, okay? I mean, if you want us to.”

“I’d like that. Now . . . I’m really alone.”

 

 

Dean had seen plenty of dead bodies before, humans and non-humans alike. He’d thought the sight had long since ceased to affect him, but there was something about Delphinar’s body, the honest-to-god expression on her animal face, that sent a chill through him. The green eyes were glassy and unseeing, but even so there was still a look of disbelief in them, as if even now she couldn’t quite accept what had happened to her. He knelt, trying to close her eyes, but the lids were rigid and refused to move. Finally he got up, hurrying over to the small shed behind the cabin. He poked around, finding an old moving blanket that was musty but otherwise intact. He covered her as best as he could, her legs sticking out from the very bottom. It would have to do. He didn’t bother with Rolan, looking at his body only to confirm that he really was dead.

He started to go back in, then stopped, backtracking to Delphinar. “Listen, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry this happened. But . . . thanks for saving us.” He shook his head. “Look at this. I’m talking to a dead body.” He went inside, finding Sam hugging Jayme, comforting her. “Everything okay or do you two want to be alone?”

Sam glared at him. “Real sensitive, Dean.”

“I covered up your mom, Jayme,” Dean said. “I tried to close her eyes but I couldn’t. Hope that’s okay.”

“It’s fine,” she said, pulling back from Sam. “Thank you both. You can take off if you need to.”

“We’re not going anywhere,” Sam said. “Until we’re sure you’re okay.” He expected Dean to argue, but his brother only nodded.

“Yeah, we’ll stay. I mean, if that’s okay with you.”

“Yeah, that would be g—” Her head snapped up at the sound of a knock on the door. Dean turned, his hand reaching for his gun. “It’s okay,” she said, holding out her hand. “That’s my people.”

“No offense,” Dean said, taking his hand off his gun but keeping it in range. “But half the neromancers I’ve met have tried to kill me.”

Jayme went to the door, opening it to reveal a man and woman who looked somewhere in age between Jayme and Delphinar. They came in, the woman speaking briefly to Jayme in what Sam and Dean assumed was their native language. She hugged Jayme, the man touching her shoulder.

“Who are they?” the woman asked, looking at the Winchesters.

“This is Sam and Dean Winchester,” Jayme replied. “They’re human. Sam, Dean, this is Mihrahn and Etenahya. Miranda and Evan here on Earth.”

“We received your message,” Mihrahn said. “I had no idea the situation was this serious.”

“It happened very fast, and Rolan was blocking all of Ahma’s attempts to report him.”

“Who dispatched him?” Etenahya asked.

“I did,” Dean said.

“You?”

“Yeah, little human me,” Dean snapped. “He was about to crush my brother.”

“There is no need to be defensive,” Etenahya replied, never losing his composure. “If you were defending yourselves then no one is in any trouble.”

“So you believe us?” Sam asked.

“Delphinar had . . . concerns about Rolan for some time. No evidence, however. It would appear she was correct.”

It took less than an hour for the trio to describe everything they had seen and heard and done that day; the two neromancers listened without comment, their expressions betraying neither belief nor disbelief.

“And you do not know who his accomplice was?” Mihrahn asked.

“No. I’ve never seen her before,” Jayme said.

“We will attempt to find out who she is. It would be best if you all remain careful, though. There is no guarantee that Rolan’s death will dissuade her.”

“We’ll keep an eye out,” Dean said.

“How did you become involved?” Etenahya asked.

“They investigate strange occurances and sightings of supernatural beings,” Jayme said. “Apparently Rolan was letting humans catch glimpses of him in his other forms, and people thought he was a werewolf.”

“Delphinar found us,” Sam said. “She knew it was Rolan and not a werewolf.”

“Indeed. And you were the ones who killed him.”

“They were,” Jayme said. “I saw it.”

“Impressive.”

Sam blinked. “You’re not mad?”

“Why would we be mad?”

“Well, we killed one of your people, for one.”

“We do not have the same beliefs about killing that you do,” Mihrahn said with a gentle look that was almost amusement. “Besides which, if he was attacking you with the intent to kill, you were only defending yourselves.”

“Damn right,” Dean said.

Jayme filled them in with the rest of what she knew, informing them of Rolan’s blocking of their communications. After assuring them both that she would submit a full report, the pair took their leave. Dean headed to the door, blinking. “Where’d they go? Where are the bodies?”

“There’s a ship in orbit. They transported up with them. Like I said, we can’t leave any trace.”

“Just like that?” Sam said.

“Just like that.” She leaned on the door, looking out the window.

For the first time in forever Dean had no idea what to say.

 

 

It had taken more than a day for her to work up the courage to go into the cabin’s only bedroom, not for fear of what she might find, but if the sense of calm she’d managed to find would crack. Sam and Dean had been true to their word, staying with her, joking around, trying to distract her when her mind strayed into places too dark. Dean was especially adept, asking her to tell them stories of her years being around rock stars and other famous people, and even if Sam didn’t get all the nuance, he showed plenty of interest. She got the feeling that they were just as happy to have a few days off as she was for the company.

But finally it was time to stare down the last demon. She waited until the brothers had gone into town to get food, then headed into the room, finding plenty of tears but not the ones she was expecting.

Delphinar of the House of Nashratista had followed the usual habits of her people, collecting few personal possessions over her long years. Most of what she did have were small items—a few pieces of jewelry, some leather-bound books, an empty journal which yielded a letter, written in her mother’s neat, ornate Katarinian script.

She closed the door to the bedroom, which still held her mother’s scent and the sense of peace that had followed her everywhere, curling up on the bed and reading from the late afternoon light through the small window.

 

_My dearest child,_

_If you are reading this, then something has happened to me, I dare not guess what. It will likely have something to do with the Dominators. I’m sorry for not telling you the truth, that my study of Earth literature, while my main avocation, sometimes has to play second fiddle to tracking and seeking out Dominator activity._

_Nine or so years ago I encountered a boy named Sam. I don’t know why, but there was something about him that stuck with me. When we crossed paths several years later I was sure of it, and his area of study—werewolves—instantly had me alerted. Generally when humans begin spotting “werewolves” it means that there is Dominator activity. Not always, but most of the time. So I was worried, especially when this teenage boy claimed to have seen “weirder” things._

_Nothing came of it, and he disappeared. Then last month there were several alleged sightings here. I knew something was happening and so I came. And several weeks later, the same boy appeared along with his brother. It was beyond mere coincidence, and so I stayed near them, knowing that if any Dominators were here that they were in mortal danger._

_And if it has come to this, then I was right._

_I know you’re not happy and haven’t been for some time. You live with and love beings whose lives are fleeting, but filled with passion. I know that any life you’d have on Katarin would not be as fulfilling, despite the pain I know you feel. So I’m going to ask you to do something; whether you accept or not is your choice._

_Watch over these boys. I feel great power in them, a strength worthy of any neromancer. But I’m afraid that sometimes inner strength has to yield to outer, and that’s where you can come in. I know how strong and deep your protective instincts run, and unless I have completely misread my youngest daughter, you will find them worthy of your affection. Perhaps even love._

_I am sorry for being so cryptic, but I’m running on feelings here, and you know how unreliable they can be. I just want you to be happy, and more than that I want you to feel useful again. That’s all a parent can wish for her child._

_Always know that I love you, no matter where you are, no matter what happens to me._

_With all my love,_

_Ahma_


End file.
